In Her Presence
by Tatyana Random
Summary: Speculation. What if someone other than Dumbledore comforted Harry after the death of his godfather? HPGW OneShot Please Review.


Disclaimer: I don't own anything Harry Potter. I only own the plot of this story.

A/N: I am **NOT** a Harry/Ginny shipper. I was disappointed, to say the least, when they got together _again _ in the seventh book. I don't like Ginny Weasley. Never have. Probably never will. Which is why I am stretching my mind and writing this one-shot between her and Harry. (Ugh!) Please bear with me. I hope you all enjoy.

Summary: Speculation. What if someone other than Dumbledore comforted Harry after the death of his godfather? One-shot, please review.

_**In Her Presence**_

Black. That's all I can feel. It was a deep, gutteral sensation in the center of my chest...and I couldn't relinquish it. It seemed to me to be some unspecified aspect of anger that if I was to let go and give in to grief, I would somehow lose control.

Control.

When have I, Harry James Potter, ever had control over anything? Did I think that one day I'd wake up and things would be good? Was I so _powerful_ of wizard that my entrance into this enchanting world would ensure the end of my suffering? Where had that glimmer of hope come from when I was revealed to be the godson of alleged mass-murderer, Sirius Black?

I thought we were going to be a family. Just the two of us. And I could somehow reclaim my happiness back from that leech that had started sucking fourteen years ago.

Was I blindsided?

He was pulled from me, brutally from my grasp, bravely with the vestiges of laughter about his face. And I could do nothing but watch. And now, that is what I do. I watch the blackness of my inner eyelids as I squeeze them shut, struggling to keep distilled watery grief from sliding down my face.

And it's working.

But then Hermione's voice inside my head tells me to let go, that holding it in isn't good for me and I want to thank her for her concern.

But this is My Battle, I tell her. My battle..._mine._

But I'm tired of being alone, of being the hero, the noble one. So very _tired. _

I am sitting by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room with my knees to my chest as though this secure position will keep my sadness tucked away.

Sometimes I stare at myself in the mirror, particularly at my eyes. At their aching despairing intensity and I wonder...is this what people see when they look at me?

Sirius' face enters my mind's eye and a low moan escapes me as my head is blasted with "if onlies."

If only it this could be different. If only I had my parents. If only Voldemort didn't exist. If only Sirius didn't fall through that veil at the Ministry...if only--

"Harry?"

My carefully constructed abode of pain is shattered as a voice filled with uncertainty calls to me. I know the voice. Its' sound stirs up something deep inside me as I remember why I choose to survive.

It's her.

As the room becomes acquainted with her presence, the atmosphere fills with warmth. And I reject it, turning my back against her open concern.

She moves closer; I can hear the lightness of her footsteps and suddenly a warm hand is on my back.

At her touch, my facade shatters and although I feel the need to withdraw, I allow her heat to envelop me.

I see her lovely, fiery mane, falling to her elbows and the scent of flowers enter my nose, pulling me away from the blackness inside of me.

I'm too sad to be in awe of how someone could pull another someone out of himself, but I know that like that many others before now, this memory of her will surface.

I imagine her shyness melting into that sunny smile she wore the day after we escaped from the basilisk.

And finally, the tears come. Slowly at first, and then more open and animated. Something tells me that while she hasn't known my grief personally, she has identified with it for my sake.

I am grateful to her for being able to understand me like no other. Without oral communication, she discerns my needs and tends to them in her gentle, but diligent way. Her courage, strength and love engulf me and the image of her dancing with tulips in her hair comes to me. She is radiant and smiling. She is open, soft and loving...and she is asking me to let go...and to live.

"It's all right, Harry." She whispers and the sound of my name rolling off of her lips like butter strums the threads of my soul. It feels like her voice is kissing my ears.

I finally look into the soft, inviting, brown eyes as though I'm asking if I can trust her words.

The tender seriousness that greet me gives me my answer.

I remember my godfather's daring countenance and his open spirit and I smile, finally feeling that, despite the dark times ahead, things will be all right after all.

_**The End**_

A/N: That's all. As I said up top, please, pretty-pretty-please-with-a-cherry-on-top (takes a huge deep breath) review. Until next time, T.R.


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